My nieces and nephews call this place Narnia.  Nestled among trees and streams, stand the ruins of an abandoned mill.  We spent a few hours in this lovely place, drinking in the the beauties of a New England fall day.

Emphasis should be placed on the word lucky. I never get to do stuff like that.
And unlucky you—I don’t have the recipe for those gorgeous things.

My sister lives in Western Massachusetts, and she’s been telling me about this unbelievable chocolate shop for years.  This weekend, while we were enjoying the Berkshires in all its fall splendor, we took the kids to Chocolate Springs which was worthy of every cry of praise I’ve heard.

After our trip to chocolate utopia, we stopped at Guido’s, the local gourmet shop, and bought what we needed to make a cheese platter.  You probably can’t tell at first glance, but some of the pears are only a little bigger than the grapes.  The two varieties are called Seckel and Forelle.
We took the platter to my sister’s friend’s house for a fall party.  The word party is a huge understatement, though.  How do you put into one word the epitome of a New England autumn celebration?  There was a huge inflated slide for the kids, a square dance in the barn, a fire ring with s’mores, old fashioned jars full of candy, and crates of freshly picked apples.  It was perfect.

While we were there, I saw a friend from college, and met Gabrielle Blair.  Most of you know her as DesignMom.

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It has been so hot lately (and I think you all know how I feel about that!), but now that the weather is actually pleasant, I’ll take the time to tell you about our little day at the pumpkin farm.  I say little because it lasted all of forty-five minutes.

I had had dreams of a breezy fall day in the crisp cool air.  We would wear thick hand-knit sweaters, pick bushels of apples, find the perfect pumpkins.  Then we’d come in from the cold and have cider and doughnuts.

It felt more like we were in a scene in Grapes of Wrath, complete with ninety degree heat, dead crops, and dust.

We had fun, but I will be glad to be in New England soon, where I can have a real fall!

I’m a huge C. S. Lewis fan.  In his autobiography, Surprised by Joy: The Shape of My Early Life, he takes great lengths to discuss his education.  He said his father bought every book he had ever read, so Lewis was at liberty to read anything lying about the house.  When Lewis’s boarding school experiences proved to be disastrous, his father sent him to live with his own former college professor William T. Kirkpatrick (the inspiration for Professor Kirk in the Chronicles of Narnia), who was his private tutor for years and taught Lewis to think logically.

Since reading it, my dream has been to get wealthy and hire a live in governess to teach my children privately.  She could go on trips to Europe with us and tutor my children in logic, literature, and languages (no alliteration intended).  A couple years ago, when I saw we weren’t getting rich, I thought I’d take a whack at homeschooling and volunteer myself as the governess.  My son was very cooperative, and enjoyed the one on one teaching, but after about six months we abandoned it for several reasons with which I won’t bore you.

Homeschooling was not a waste of time, by any means.  I had based the curriculum on Jessie Bauer and Susan Wise Bauer’s book, The Well-Trained Mind: A Guide to Classical Education at Home, which has become a homeschooling standard on classical education.  With it, Stuart learned much more history and literature than public schools would ever try to cover, and we even began Latin.  Since my dream of giving him the perfect education has halted until we have an extra $70,000 every year to pay the governess, he and I try as often as we can to supplement his learning with things the book suggests for people who can’t homeschool: world history, writing, literature, and logic.  That way, when I write my best-selling novel, or my husband becomes a real estate tycoon, the governess won’t have to start from scratch.

Thank you to everyone who has already entered the contest!   (But don’t worry, if you haven’t entered yet, you still have time!)  I scouted around Williams Sonoma today and found this small bundle of kitchen tools.

The first item is the Oxo Good Grips potato peeler.  I’ve had mine for close to ten years and it still hasn’t worn out.  It’s great and worth every extra penny.  I just got my first citrus reamer a few weeks ago, and love it, especially when I only need to juice one or two lemons or limes.  My favorite is the Microplane.  You can find it in lots of kitchen stores, but the ones they sell at Williams Sonoma have a protective sleeve and rubber pads on the end to prevent slipping—two great safety features.  I use it for zesting citrus fruits, grinding fresh nutmeg, and grating fresh ginger.  The red spoonula (sorry, that link no longer has the spoonulas—only spatulas) is a favorite.  I use it for spooning dry ingredients into batter when I use the mixer, or for cooking in nonstick pans, or whatever else.

If you haven’t entered yet, get cooking, and post a comment to tell me about it. Best of luck!

I know it’s a little soon to start a new contest, but thanks to my friend Becky, a lot of you are new to the site.  It hardly seems fair that you would all have to wait around for a long time before the next contest starts, don’t you think?

So, here’s the lowdown.  I want everyone to have fun cooking this week (I’m sure I’ll do a manners themed contest some time and another one with books in the future, but this week it will be cooking.).  If you try one of my recipes, put a comment on this post, and tell me how it went.  If you loved it, tell me!  If something goes wrong with it or you hate it, let me know!  I want to hear.  I’ll pick randomly from all of your comments.  And don’t worry, if you already tried something and told me about it, like Julie and Sonja and many others, then you’re already entered!

As for the prize, hmm . . . I think I’ll scout around Williams Sonoma and make up a little bundle of a few of my favorite kitchen tools.  I’ll definitely toss in a Microplane, the one tool I could no longer do without.  Once I’ve put them all together, I’ll post a picture so you’ll know what you’re aiming for.

So, there you have it.  I can’t wait to hear from you.  Good luck, and happy cooking!

My two-year-old keeps asking if he can please have a tomahto.

We’ve been watching a lot of Charlie and Lola.

I think I’ll make a new rule that we all have to call them tomahtoes now. I don’t ever want him to stop.

My five-year-old daughter has been playing paper dolls a lot lately.  The other day she told me, “I’m gonna have a show with all my paper dolls.  Yeah, but they’re all gonna be necked.  It won’t be a show for kids.”

A few years ago, I was watching the BYU channel, and saw a small lecture given by Chieko Okazaki.  She talked about raising families with love and respect.  Among her many ideas, the one that stood out was her simple set of rules she had in her home:  Be polite; be safe.  Just about every behavior falls into these two categories.  It was so brilliant, we have adopted these rules in our own home.

When a child misbehaves, the conversation often goes a bit like this, “What are the rules of our house?”

They mumble, “Being polite and safe.”

Then we ask, “Was it safe to hit your brother?”

“No.”

“Was it polite?”

“No.”

“What do you say?”

“Sorry.”

It’s very simple, and most of the time it helps us avoid further struggles and contention.

Humilimom—as in humiliated mom.  That was me at Target two weeks ago.  My five-year-old—five-year-old!— threw a fit there, right after I had said good-bye to my well-put-together friend Danielle.  I was hoping she would not be privy to my child’s outburst of emotion, but she walked by during phase one of the tantrum.  When we arrived at the checkout line, we were in phase 2—the loudest phase, and there was Danielle, four check out lines down, with her three lovely daughters.
By this time, everyone could hear my daughter screaming. She sounded like Veruca Salt’s evil twin. I was far too embarrassed to make eye contact with anyone in the store who might have the I-would-never-let-my-kid-act-like-that face,  so I did something I’m not a fan of: I covered her mouth. She could breathe just fine, but the second she did, she got a bloody nose. Yes, people probably thought I hit her.
It would be painful for me to continue to tell the story of such a low point in my time as a mother. So, I’ll just tell you the car ride home turned into a lecture to all three of my children on the evils of becoming spoiled brats.
I finally saw Danielle on Sunday. She was out of town for a few weeks—enough time for our display to become a cloudy memory, and enough time for the red in my cheeks to fade. I apologized, and we had a laugh. I suppose all families have their moments—even if they aren’t as humiliating as mine was.